Lea Ryan's splendiferous journal of semi-coherent ramblings

Monthly Archives: April 2016

Writing has been rough lately. I do have a book that I’m working on that I planned to churn out as quickly as possible, but it turns out my notes weren’t as good as I thought they were before I started.

The way has been a little uphill, but I am getting there. I love the story. It has an awesome title, which I am not yet ready to share, but henceforth, I’ll call it “Oceans” on the blog.

Current word count is about 15000 words. I should finish the rough draft before the end of April if all goes well. Then I’ll have 2 rough drafts done this year so far. Not bad for just April, even if I do say so myself.

I’m also going to work on getting print copies of Love and the Dark together. People have been asking for it, and by people, I mean my mimaw. I’ve been lazy about the print book and some other things, like audiobooks. I have way too much that I’ve been putting off.

Does anyone want to be my unpaid assistant? No? Darn. That never works.

While I’m on here, I would like to apologize to the person who bought Llewyn’s Faith on Amazon the other day. I appreciate the business. I actually need more of it, but that story is currently not in the best condition. I’m actually in the process of fixing a few typos that shouldn’t have made it that far.

If you are that person and you’re all like what the crap is this crap? Then please message me and I will send you the fixed version plus one of my other books of your choice for free.

I do plan to rerelease Llewyn’s Faith on a wider distribution once it’s fixed. It’s only listed on Amazon at the moment.

My furbaby died last Saturday. If you’ve been reading the blog for a while, you probably know who Max is/was. This is him.

One day a long time ago, a cat that belonged to a friend of mine had kittens. We saw these kittens when they were a few days old if I remember correctly.

They weren’t really of petting/holding age yet, but I do remember kneeling next to them to inform them how adorable they were. One of them broke from their little kitten group and started crawling toward me.

I didn’t think anything of it until a couple of months later, my friend brought me that kitten in a shoebox.

I did not request said kitten delivery, but I took it, nonetheless. I thought he could be my daughter’s cat.

That didn’t work out because she was a toddler and her tendency to carry him around by his head may have resulted in a lack of interest in wanting to be her cat.

So, he became mine.

It’s amazing just how much of my life involved him, my routines. Part of me still expects him to show up at certain times or whenever I do certain things.

I sit at the kitchen counter. He’s supposed to sit on the stool next to me and beg for my food.

I sit on the floor in my closet to put on my shoes. He’s supposed to come in and walk around like he just casually showed up, even though he’s there for a hug.

I go to bed. He’s supposed to sing his cat song and bring me his toy mouse.

I work at my desk. He’s supposed to curl up underneath.

But he doesn’t do that anymore, because he’s gone.

And I feel selfish for wanting these things because he was sick for two long years. I also feel guilty because if I had taken him to the vet a day or two sooner, he might’ve lived a little bit longer.

I’m looking forward to the day that my memories of him are fond and not just thoughts that make my heart sit heavier in my chest. I want to stop having to remind myself that he’s not coming back, that I am minus one furry shadow.

I am feeling a bit better about the whole thing, not perfect, but better. I have our other cat, Sneaker, to sort of keep me company.

As far as the future goes, I don’t plan to seek out another cat. That usually isn’t how we end up with pets. If I get another cat, it will probably be the one that shows up in my yard or some other delivery method, courtesy of the universe. Maybe I’ll get lucky and a reincarnation of Max will find me.